Wednesday, May 13, 2026

Wednesday, May 13, 2026

Today’s story is told by Dave Wonnenberg, close family friend and witness to:

“Andy’s Wild Ride.”

Let us begin with a picture (scroll down to the picture with Andy sitting solo, smiling, his hair still wet):

To Andy’s family, in particular those of you who would lovingly refer to him as Grandy (and Great Grandy and beyond, for our future readers), I would like to bring to your attention the life within the smile of that man in the picture. The words below will offer me the opportunity to share a few thoughts about him but before that please take a bit longer than you might normally to review the image and consider the man there.

No, really, please take the time.

….and now welcome back and thank you for reading why that photo is a compelling way to share some insight about Andy.

The setting of this picture will not be a surprise to many in the Snarski family and those of us lucky enough to have been afforded the blessing of experiencing Up North at Fence Lake with them. Andy’s sitting on a pontoon boat rented for the week and used for a variety of excursions with our families including tooling around at sunset, fishing, and of course holding onto the mainline tow rope for water skiing. Along with me and my wife, Katie, and son William, accompanying Andy this Monday, July 28, 2025 at 4:12 pm, are Cindy, Nikki, Zack, Wyatt, Coco and Alex.

What you may not be aware of is the meaningful event that generated for us all that life-lived smile captured in the photo.

A recent addition lay underneath Andy’s Minocqua Distillery shirt: a feeding tube hook up that had been thoroughly Saran-wrapped by Cindy and Katie whilst on shore. We were all uncertain of the waterproof-ness of the gastronomy tube (G-tube). Another reminder of the shitty disease’s progression – slowly claiming various physical capabilities.

He and Cindy daily experienced the effects. But as I picked up through our brief times together and his blog, Andy’s mind remained sharp. Andy fought dark thoughts as he relayed at times in his writing and would not himself claim to be perfect. What rings loudly for me are his positive and heartfelt and impactful posts. He was a man compelled to live. From all accounts, he did so with purpose before the ALS diagnosis, and he fully re-committed to doing so following it.

So, the meaningful moment precipitating this lived-life smile was Andy’s slalom ride atop a paddle board holding that mainline, towed behind the pontoon boat captained by Zack. Read the posts from the two days related to this outing for his insights on how he got here (Monday, July 28, 2025 – Day 349; and Tuesday, July 29, 2025 – Day 350).

Suffice to say that this guy captured in a screenshot of a video I took of Mr. Andy’s Wild Ride (see Andy seated on the paddleboard and holding the tow rope), with his less stable legs and crimping hands and growing troubles breathing, lived life well upon that paddle board for one heck of a long time. That same video also captured a Wyatt/Nikki high five.

Not long after the video ended, yes, he grew tired and fell into the water. Just like any other gifted MinocquaBat does. Andy describes the next moments, including the fear, in his blog. But fast forward 4 minutes (by the time stamps of the video ending to that smiling guy in the first image). A guy exhilarated by life. Continuing to conquer challenges.

I am lucky to have been witness to and participated in the days leading up to that smiling guy getting his photo taken. I was certainly apprehensive of Andy’s decision to be on the paddle board despite mitigating many of the risks by using the life jacket, having many competent swimmers onboard to help (way to go Alex), the Saran wrap burrito-fication of his torso, and so on. The strongest thing he had going for him was his will to live his life.

Now go back to that first photo of Andy smiling. How does a guy that’s increasingly seeing his physical abilities being slowly, progressively stolen from him by (F)ALS go from kicking ass on the towed paddle board that he’s slaloming around on, to almost drowning, to sitting in that pontoon boat with that smile on his face? He knew the risks. He wanted to live. His life. Sustaining a positive tone. Honest about the always looming dark. Inspiring those of us on the pontoon boat, and back on shore, and back in Crystal Lake, and connected via the blog and elsewhere. And even you reading this in the future. Wyatt. Coco. And others yet to join his legacy.

Later that evening at dinner I gave Andy a hug. I’d been thinking about how to tell him I love him and in a way not to be a downer. In a way not to be that guy just saying something because many moments in Andy’s journey post-diagnosis were challenging and sad, as I saw them from Washington, DC and reading his blog.

“Andy, you’re a fucking badass!”

July 2025. Today as I write this. In the future when your family and people read this.

You were and you are.

Love you guys